


By Definition

by ambreignstrain



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Alpha Roman Reigns, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Beta Seth Rollins, Dark, Knotting, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Omega Dean Ambrose, betas are too to a lesser extent, omegas are seriously oppressed, the non-con is implied and not explicit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-26
Updated: 2017-07-09
Packaged: 2018-11-19 11:30:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11312475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ambreignstrain/pseuds/ambreignstrain
Summary: [Rewrite] Like all Alphas, Alpha Roman Reigns has always believed that betas and omegas were lower on the food chain than Alphas. It isn't until he's sent off to marry Seth Rollins, the eldest beta grandson of the most powerful Alpha in the country, and chooses an unusual omega named Pup as a pet and companion, that he realizes the world isn't what it seems.At all.





	1. Sub-Human

**Author's Note:**

> If you follow me on Tumblr, then you knew this was coming. I wasn't going to be able to finish "By Def" in its original state because there was just too much about it that wasn't working for me. It got very bogged down in some plot elements I really didn't like writing. 
> 
> So here's take two. It's more streamlined, because I removed quite a few of the plot beats that I felt made the story drag out unnecessarily. We're refocusing on the Alpha/beta/omega stuff and focusing tighter on Roman and Dean-Pup. The original drama with the McMahon-Helmsleys will be there, but to a lesser degree, as well.
> 
> This is pretty bleak at the start. As with the original story, omegas are super oppressed/objectified/brainwashed, so they can't consent to anything. However, I'm not writing anything sexually explicit or graphic. Everything is implied.
> 
> I don't know that everyone will like this compared to the original - especially the initial introduction between Roman and Pup vs. the original - but we're headed in a very similar direction. So just bear with me.

**By Definition**

I. Sub-human  
_a. On Alphas, betas, and omegas_

On the surface, it appears that the world is at peace.

In school, young Alphas are taught that, other than the occasional chest-beating between Alpha clan leaders, things are stable. Clan territory lines are clear and well-respected by everyone, and Alpha Rule keeps everything running like clockwork. There haven't been territory fights or raids in half a century, and because there's been peace the world over, industry and technology have grown at an exponential rate.

The world is flourishing.

So they say.

Alphas are the top of the food chain, naturally. The leaders, the fighters, the law, the doctors, the entrepreneurs - they're groomed to be these things from birth. Alphas are the movers and shakers. They're the reason there are paved roads and air conditioning and buildings reaching for the sky. To be born an Alpha is to know that you've got a place in the world no matter what - even if your skills are more suited for building houses than building businesses. Alphas always have the right to do whatever they want.

It's their world.

Betas, the bulk of the world's population, are content with their place. Lacking the aggression of Alphas or the feeble minds of omegas, they're the laborers whose hands pour the concrete and weld the steel and hammer the nails. They're allowed to teach beta children, but not Alpha children. They can be nurses, but not doctors. They can be research assistants, but not researchers in their own right. As long as they show due deference to their Alphas, betas are allowed their freedoms: they can own a home (but not land), travel (with permission), and also raise children (if they can afford to purchase one from an Alpha or an adoption center).

The one thing betas cannot do is refuse an Alpha who wants to date or marry them. Nor can they refuse sex with them. It's not all that common that Alphas want to fuck betas these days, not with twenty-four hour access to omegas, but Alphas marry betas all the time whether the beta wants to or not.

It's just the way it goes.

At the bottom of the food chain, of course, are omegas.

Mute, feeble-minded, and weak, omegas exist only for Alphas' pleasure. They're genetically inferior to Alphas and betas in every conceivable way, unable to follow anything but the most basic commands. Raised inside Omega Centers, they're trained how to do the only two things they're capable of doing: servicing Alphas' sexual needs and having babies.

Once they're trained, they're moved to the breeding part of the Omega Center, where any Alpha can drop in and have sex with any available omega they choose - day or night, whether the omega is in heat or not. Alphas tend to prefer heating omegas, as knotting helps the Alpha work out any extra aggression, but they can - and do - knot non-heating omegas just as well. To curb population growth, omegas are given regular birth control shots that prevent pregnancies without taking away the omega's ability to heat. If an Alpha wants a child, they simply fill out a form, and are given a fertile omega to impregnate.

Up until the last ten years or so, almost no Alphas owned omegas.

The vast majority of them still don't.

For the longest time, omegas were a scarce resource - to the the point where Alphas began to worry about the future of humanity - but over the last half-century or so, omega population has grown and stabilized to the point where it's no longer a concern. Even so, think tank minds decided that keeping a community's omegas in a place where all Alphas could use them would reduce aggression and intra-Alpha violence. If Alphas knew they would always be able to satisfy their sexual urges and procreate anytime they wanted, they could be free to pursue more lofty goals.

In the last few years, though, it's become trendy for very rich Alphas to parade their own personal omegas around on leashes like some kind of pet. A lot of betas look down on this, as they worry that it's going to make Alphas start fighting again (not to mention how _weird_ it looks to have nearly naked sub-humans crawling around on leashes in public), but they never say anything about it.

There's a story about a place where everyone lives happily and in peace. A golden place. Paradise. Omelas. Everyone is happy there except for a single child. This child is kept under the city, near-starved. It knows nothing of love or kindness, because it is denied those things. Every citizen in the city eventually comes to see it. They know it suffers. Most live happily despite that. A few, a small few, can't bear the guilt and choose to leave paradise. But they are few and they don't stop the citizens of Omelas from living in peace.

A tiny percentage of betas object to omegas being treated the way they are and sneak off to live in betas-only colonies on the outskirts of civilization. The vast majority just accept it. And even if they aren't always happy about having to marry Alphas, they do it. Even if betas aren't always happy they can't travel freely or have a say in government despite outnumbering Alphas eight to one or work certain jobs that they would probably excel at, they don't complain.

The trains run on time. There's medicine. Technology. Roads. A world that, on the surface, is calm.

It's a good world.

So they say.

They're all liars.

Every single one of them.

* * *

_b._ Meet Mox

Jon Moxley is the kind of guy who can never stand still.

 _Annoying_ is a word he's heard used to describe him.

 _Energetic_ is what he'd call himself.

Bright blue eyes, shaggy brown hair, a long body tight with lean muscle, and a wicked troublemaker's smile, he's the kind of guy who can never seem to keep out of trouble. It doesn't matter if he's just walking down the street or headed into work.

Trouble always finds him.

Ordinarily he doesn't mind that - he's willing to throw down and fight any wannabe tough guy Alpha prick who wants to step to him - but sometimes it's a real pain in the ass when he's trying to do his job.

Firefighting.

Take today: a torched SUV behind a building. Two truck crews from two different precincts answer the call in what's basically a clusterfuck. Both precincts want the credit for putting the fire out, and neither backs down when the other tries to stake their claim. The truck crews end up face-to-face, glares and bared teeth, each crew ready to throw down and claim this fire as their own.

Mox genuinely doesn't start the fight this time. Well. He might make a kind of obnoxious kissy face at this big Alpha prick he hates named Baron Corbin, but Corbin is the prick who crosses the line first. Like the bitch-boy he his, Corbin takes a bitch-boy sucker-punch swing at Mox's face and smashes Mox's nose.

He staggers backward into his crew-mate, Antonio, nose gushing like a busted water balloon.

Antonio tries to hold Mox back from retaliating, but Mox is too angry to let himself be contained that way.

Furious, he throws down right there, tackling Corbin to the ground and punching him until Antonio and Drake drag him off. By then it's too late to stop the fight, though: the other crew's Alphas rush in to join the fray, professional firefighters and grown Alphas ignoring a vehicle on fire to scrap like schoolyard boys. The scene commanders bellow at them over bullhorns to _break it the hell up, Alphas_ , but in their battle frenzy, the Alphas disregard them.

It's hard to stop Alphas - or omega-born Alphas like Mox - once they get going.

All Mox knows is there's three Alphas trying to tackle Antonio and Drake, and that's completely bullshit, so he human cannonballs into them, knocking them down. Fists and feet fly. His heavy coat and overalls deflect the worst of it, but his helmet goes flying off somewhere when he gets picked up and slammed to the ground by some big-ass prick named Corbin. He's bleeding like a stuck pig from his nose, but he ignores that and scrambles up to launch himself right into Corbin's stomach again, sending the two of them toppling into the side of one of the trucks.

For Mox, though, when the fight ends, everything ends.

He never sees it coming.

Somebody grabs him from behind and throws him headfirst at the truck.

He hits the corrugated running board hard, and everything goes black.

When he wakes up, he finds himself on the floor of a sterile white room, head pounding and his body aching like he'd been run through a meat grinder. Naked, he realizes when he finally lifts his head, except for a black jockstrap over his genitals and a slim collar around his neck.

His blood freezes.

A door opens and a woman in all blue walks through. She's small with blond hair and no expression on her face. Her eyes are like ice chips. She has a syringe in hand.

 _Oh shit_ , Mox thinks, scrambling away from her. _Oh shit oh shit oh shit._

 _Caught. I'm caught_.

"We've found you at last, omega," she says softly, not moving. She sounds like a disappointed teacher. "We've been looking for you for a very long time. We're amazed you survived. Imagine our surprise when the hospital told us they found an omega posing an Alpha. What a clever little omega you are."

"'M not a little anything," he spits at her. Turns out it's hard to sound brave when he's cowering in a corner. He claws his way to his feet. He's bigger than she is. Even on wobbly legs and seeing two of her, he could take her. "Lemme go! I'm not a goddamn omega. I'm an Alpha. I'm a fucking Alpha. Lemme go!"

"I'm afraid we can't do that, omega." She plucks a remote control out of her pocket. "The laws are clear. You are a biological omega, and therefore your place is in an Omega Center, servicing the Alphas of this city."

"Fuck your laws." Mox takes a stumbling step forward. "Fuck _you_. I'm not a fucking _thing_. I'm a human being. Fucking listen to me. I'm not one of those brain dead zombies. I'm a _person_ , you bitch! I'm a _person_. You can't do this to me. Let me go!"

The woman calmly presses a button on the remote.

Pain the likes of which Jon Moxley has never experienced in his life shoots down from his neck. It's like a thousand lightning bolts firing down his veins, searing him all the way to his fingertips and toes. For a crazy moment he wonders if this is what it's like to be fried from the inside. His knees buckle, and he falls to the floor in a strengthless little ball, too hurt to even scream.

When it's over, he lies on the cold, hard floor like a fish dropped onto the shore, mouth opening and closing soundlessly, eyes bulging.

"Hush now omega," the woman above him sings, her voice soft and honeyed, "don't say a word. I'm gonna show your place in the world."

And the last conscious thought Jon Moxley has before the needle pierces his neck and takes everything away is, _I'm a person. I'm a person. I'm a person. I'm a-_

* * *

_c._ Meet Roman

Alpha Roman Reigns is not just another face in the crowd.

 _Intimidating_ is a word he's heard used to describe him.

 _Striking_ is what he'd call himself.

Deep brown eyes, long thick black hair, tall, a body that's well-defined with muscle, and a distinctive sleeve tattoo, he's the kind of guy that always gets a double-take from people. It doesn't matter if he's just walking down a sunny beach or in a three-piece suit at work.

People always look.

Ordinarily he doesn't mind that, but today, standing between his father and soon-to-be father-in-law, Roman feels really out of place.

The Reigns Clan has controlled Florida, Georgia, and the Carolinas - Southern Coastal Territory - for the better part of the last fifty years. They'd taken it in a quiet, bloodless coup when the previous leader couldn't produce an heir worthy of taking over. By brokering smart deals and making wise use of resources, the Reigns clan had prospered in a big way. They'd amassed an immense wealth and raised the standard of living by about ten times what it was.

They're in no danger whatsoever of anyone trying to oust them.

In fact, the whole point of everything that's happened in the last three months has been to see that it never happens again.

The McMahon clan controls the Northeast Territory, everything from Maine to New York. They're not the biggest geographically, but they're huge in terms of power and influence. They control New York City - where Roman, his father, and Hunter Helmsley are now - which is currently the financial capitol of the world. There's little business that goes on that doesn't filter through New York City, and Vince McMahon, in turn.

Vince McMahon is the single-most powerful Alpha in the United States right now.

His daughter Stephanie is the second-most powerful, making her husband Hunter third.

When Roman marries into the family the day after tomorrow, he'll join his father as the next most-powerful, putting them head and shoulders above all the other clan leaders in the country.

Not that Roman cares.

Vince McMahon had seen how strong the Reigns clan had become, and, in the interest of maintaining the peace on the east coast, made a business deal with Roman's father. It was the usual exchange of raw materials, travel rights, and other resources between clans to ensure continued peace. Boring. Roman hadn't even paid attention at the deal-making.

Until, that was, the topic shifted to the traditional way to seal the deal: marriage.

At that, Roman hadn't even blinked, at first: one of his sisters, a beta, would be wed to an McMahon Alpha who would come to live in Florida. That much Roman had known because Dad mentioned it beforehand.

What Dad hadn't mentioned was that Roman himself would be put out for marriage into the McMahon clan. Roman was already engaged to a high-status beta, so it came as a shock when Dad agreed to have Roman marry Vince's grandson. Stephanie and Hunter's oldest beta boy.

Roman had no idea it was coming. At the table, Dad said, "Roman will marry your son Seth and join your family in Connecticut," and that was that.

Fast-forward three months, and the wedding's tomorrow.

Roman's head hasn't stopped spinning.

He's been living in New York ever since, having been pulled out of his job managing the family's construction company to be another cog in the McMahons' cold, corporate machine. His life's become an endless series of meetings: PR meetings, job meetings, meetings with wedding planners and the house decorator, meetings with the McMahons to discuss their expectations. Meetings about meetings. Meetings about his spouse-to-be that don't actually include his spouse-to-be. Chaperoned meetings with his spouse-to-be where they don't even talk to each other. And on and on.

The hardest part is he'd had to break off his year-long engagement to the fiery beta he'd fallen in love with in college for this crap. Kara was everything he wanted in a spouse: tough and determined, unafraid to speak her mind (behind closed doors), smart, sweet, and adventurous. She'd loved him, too. There was no weird, forced Alpha thing between them. Breaking her heart was the worst thing he'd ever done.

Dad hadn't cared.

"This is your life now, son," he'd said. "Accept it. This is how it is."

As he's Roman's senior and clan leader, there isn't a damn thing Roman can do but obey.

* * *

_d. Roman meets Pup_

Obeying today means accompanying Dad and Hunter to an Omega Center.

Roman has never been interested in keeping his own pet omega, but Vince and Hunter both insisted that owning one would help cement Roman's status in the upper echelon of the McMahon clan. It's become tradition for Alphas of Vince and Hunter's status to have them.

Hence the trip to pick one out at this Omega Center.

This Center is no different from any Roman's been to. The intake area in which Roman, his father, and Hunter are waiting is screaming white, remorseless and spotless, so clean you could probably eat off of any of its surfaces. It's sterile and clean, the air out here filtered to keep any stray omega scents from inadvertently setting off any Alphas.

Beyond the metal doors, Roman knows he'll find the scenting hall. Omegas available for sex are put in plexiglas pods, which are stacked four-high and line both sides of the hallway. The omegas stay on their hands and knees with their pussies facing the hallway so Alphas can smell them. Each plexiglas pod has holes in it that allows the scent to drift out, while also protecting the omega from just being grabbed and taken by some out-of-control Alpha. The Alpha chooses the omega that smells best to them. An attendant then takes the omega either to one of the free soundproofed cubicles at the back (that just have a cot and a sink) or, for Alphas that want to spend a little money, to one of the nicer rooms (which have a bed and all manner of sexual toys to play with).

The rooms, in Roman's opinion, always make for a much more enjoyable experience when he has the time for it, but the cubicles are always fine when he's in a hurry.

He shifts and glances at his watch.

They've only been standing at Intake for a couple minutes, but it feels like hours.

Just as he has that thought, the stainless steel door slide out, and a handsome beta dressed all in blue steps through. "Alphas," he says, bowing to them, "good morning. My name is Brad. I'll be your attendant today. My apologies for the delay. We have everything set up for you, if you'll follow me."

Hunter, a big Thor-like Alpha with a huge nose and angry buzzcut hair, nudges Roman's arm. "They have the best stock in the world here. I'm sure we'll find something you like."

"I'm sure," Roman says politely. He lets Hunter and his father both go ahead of him, walking slightly behind them as is respectful for a lower-rank Alpha to do.

They follow the attendant down a hallway that's so white-bright that Roman feels like his eyeballs are going to melt from it. Both sides of this hallway are lined with empty omega pods, which gives Roman pause, since he'd expected to just walk along the line and scent them like he always does.

Instead, he finds himself led into a viewing room, where there are no pods. There are five rows of omegas kneeling on the floor, five rows in each. They all have their foreheads down, their hands behind their backs, and their knees spread wide to present their pussies.

All of them are naked, other than the black collars and the pouches covering their genitals.

None of the omegas are in heat, but they smell incredible just the same.

"These omegas were selected based on your specific scent profile, Alpha Reigns," Brad tells him as soon as the door slides shut behind them. "Any one of them would make an ideal pet for you."

Hunter takes a few steps inside the room and breathes deep. Hazel eyes gleam with undisguised lust. "Nothing better than the smell of wide open omega pussy, is there, Roman? Man. Just looking at all this - I tell ya, I think I'm just going to have to book a room before we go today. Brad," he adds to the young man in blue, "have someone find me something that needs a knot. Go put it in my usual room. I'll be up as soon as we're done here. Sika?"

Dad's staring at the omegas with the same kind of want in his eyes. "Yes, please."

"We'll have Roman do a trial run with the omega he picks," Hunter says, "so get us three rooms, Brad."

"Yes, Alpha," Brad says, drifting over to the door and speaking quietly into a small intercom panel.

Hunter rubs his hands together. "All right, Roman. Take a look around."

Whatever reservations Roman might have had about this melt as he walks behind the lines of omegas, carefully sniffing at each of them to try to find source of that amazing scent. It could be the combination of all these omegas, but he's almost positive it's coming from one particular omega.

It is.

The omega in the second row, right on the end, is the one.

Roman smells it and something in his brain lights up like fireworks.

It's a bigger omega than the others, even though it's trying to look as small as it can. There's no hiding long legs or wide shoulders or a broad back. Omegas tend to be small and thin, delicate. The ones Roman's always used have been, anyway, but this one doesn't look like any of those things. Its thigh muscles are thick and look strong.

He hunkers down behind it and runs a hand over its flank, breathing the scent wafting up out of its pussy. Up close, it's actually incredible, this woodsy kind of musk that reminds him of pine-studded forests and old leather and amber whiskey. It doesn't actually smell like those things - it just smells like strong omega - but it underneath that, there's a scent like _mate_.

Like _mine_.

He can't remember the last time one has smelled this good to him - or if one even ever has.

"This one," he says, settling a possessive hand in the middle of its back.

It tenses under his touch.

Brad makes his way over, while Hunter and Dad both move to stand at the edge of the row.

"That's a big one," Dad says. "I don't think I've ever seen one that big."

"Big omega for a big guy," Hunter says with a grin. "I like it. Shows you can handle something your size. It looks tough, too. All kinds of things you can do to it."

"Can you have it sit up, Alpha Reigns?" Brad asks Roman.

"Up," Roman commands it.

The omega puts its hands on the floor and slowly raises itself up so that it's resting on his haunches.

Roman rises and moves around to the front so he can look at it properly.

Really nothing remarkable about it, he decides. Plain, even-featured face and soft sandy hair. Same vacant eyes as all the other omegas. They're a nice shade of blue, at least. Not _pretty_ , exactly, but they do have a certain appeal.

He frowns, though, when he sees thin white scars criss-crossing the omega's chest and upper arms. "This one's been used pretty hard from the looks of things," he says. "Where did all these scars come from?"

_Who hurt my mate?_

"It was actually from accident when it was younger, Alpha," Brad says smoothly. "We've adjusted the price to reflect the less-than-pristine condition."

"Why was this one even brought out at all?" Dad demands. "We specified your best stock."

"All of these omegas were selected for maximum compatibility with your son's scent profile, Alpha Reigns," Brad replies. "This one tested particularly well, as you can see. We realize it's a bit damaged, but the damage is superficial. It's not the kind that can or will be transmitted to offspring. While it's not the most pleasant to look at, I doubt anyone will actually notice. There are far fewer scars on its back."

"Even if they do notice them," Hunter says, "they'll just think Roman is a bad-ass. It's not a problem. Nobody cares, anyway. The important thing is, do you like it, Roman?"

"I do," Roman says, resting a hand on top of its head. "It smells great to me."

"Very good, Alpha Reigns," Brad says, touching a chip on the omega's collar. A little blue LED strip lights up with the omega's ID: PUP-120785MOHT.

"Pup," Roman murmurs. "I thought you didn't name them."

"We don't, Alpha Reigns," Brad answers. "Those are just random letters. Sometimes we get BOB or SAM or even DAD, but it's never intentional. The letters are randomly assigned. You can call it whatever you want. In any case, here." He produces a leash and hands it to Roman. "Let's have you take it back to a room and try it on. You may have scent compatibility, but we need to make sure it performs up to your sexual standards. If not, we've got a whole room full of omegas who are well-matched to your scent profile."

Roman reaches down to clip the leash onto the ring on the omega's collar. Arousal, low and heated, begins to stir.

"Before we go, though, Alpha," Brad says. "So I can alert our surgery team, with whatever omega you choose, are you going to want any alterations?"

"Alterations?" Roman asks, shaking his head. "What does that mean?"

"Some of our clients prefer to have certain unnecessary body parts removed, Alpha." Calm and quiet, Brad removes a tablet out of his pocket. "For example, you may wish to have its teeth removed. We can amputate external genitalia. We've also removed arms and legs, as you can just put the omega in a sling and leave it there."

"I had the teeth taken out of my first one," Hunter says. "It makes for a hell of a smooth blowjob."

Disquieted, Roman turns away. "No. No, I don't want any alterations. I'll leave mine intact."

"Very good, Alpha," Brad replies, tapping his tablet. He walks down the row of kneeling omegas and approaches Hunter and Dad. "Alphas, I believe your rooms should be ready by now, if you'll follow me. All of you," he adds, glancing at Roman. "It's this way."

Roman gives the leash a tug. "Down. Follow."

The sandy-haired omega obediently drops to its hands and knees, and begins to crawl behind Roman, who follows his father and future father-in-law out the door.

* * *

_e._ _mine_

Two hours later, a refreshed and redressed Roman steps out into the cool, clean Omega Center hallway, letting the door swing shut behind him.

Brad materializes out of nowhere with a tablet in hand. "How would you rate that experience, Alpha, on a scale of five stars?"

They always ask this after an Alpha has an omega. It's for quality assurance purposes. Roman considers. "Four. It wasn't as enthusiastic as I like my omegas to be, but it was obedient and it had good technique."

"Mm." Brad taps his tablet. "That's in line with other reviews of this particular omega. Low responsiveness outside its heats, but good technique. Average responsiveness during heats. Speaking of which, we'll give it a heat trigger tonight. It won't kick in for a couple days, which I understand will be just in time for your honeymoon. Congratulations. Standard procedure is also to give it a one-month birth control shot so you can evaluate it during heat to see if it's still satisfactory for you. Assuming, of course, this is the one you want?"

"Yeah," Roman says, glancing around at the closed door. He'd almost given into temptation a moment ago and knotted the omega again. Their combined scents were that good. He'd honestly never smelled anything like it. That omega in heat - Pup - was going to be amazing. "Yeah, I do."


	2. Pomp and Circumstance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everybody for giving this puppy a chance. I knew that taking it down for a rewrite wouldn't be a super popular decision, and I apologize to anyone upset by the new direction of the story. Anyway. Onward. We meet Seth on his wedding day. And Roman makes a strange discovery.
> 
> Warnings: lack of consent, again. But, again, nothing explicit.

**II. Pomp and Circumstance**  
_a. The Life of a beta_

Among the many things betas dislike, but never complain about, is the pomp and circumstance surrounding their weddings to Alphas.

The traditions.

As a symbol of their deference of their Alpha fiance's authority, they kneel. They remain kneeling for the duration of the ceremony, saying nothing for the duration. The Alpha remains standing as a sign of their dominance, and a symbol of their readiness to defend and provide for their spouse.

While the Alpha can wear just about anything, tradition dictates that betas wear white to signify they are now a blank slate, washed clean of their past and prior ties. As with the kneeling, this is also done to show that the beta is ready to accept the Alpha's authority over them. It falls to the Alpha to guide the beta, to 'shade them in,' so to speak, and give their life meaning.

That part especially chafes modern betas, most of whom establish their own identities and have jobs well before an Alpha expresses interest. In over half of Alpha-beta marriages, the beta spouse is required to leave their job and stay home full-time to raise the children, while the Alpha works to provide for the family.

Betas are raised to expect this and to respect it, because That's Just The Way It Is.

There's nothing they can do about it.

For Seth Helmsley-McMahon, that means wearing a so-white-it-glows tux and kneeling on a small, uncomfortable pad in the dirt beside home plate.

Yankee Stadium.

In a move that's so Vince McMahon it's physically painful, Grandpa decided to turn the wedding into The Event of The Century, and sell tickets to it.

What's even more ridiculous, in Seth's opinion (not that anybody asked), is that sixty-someodd thousand people actually paid money to attend a wedding between an Alpha and a beta who've spent a grand total of an hour alone together. The PR consultant told them this morning they expect something like a million people or more to watch the livestream on YouTube.

Across home plate stands Seth's fiance in a tailored black tux, an Alpha who's is Alpha without even trying. Roman doesn't have to put only any false displays to prove to anyone he's Alpha. He just is. He's got this quiet  _don't-fuck-with-me_  vibe about him. Handsome as a GQ model, too, but quiet. Seth hasn't seen him crack even a hint of a smile once.

Seth's surgically-repaired knee twinges, so he shifts on the pad, only to hear a throat clear above him.

He freezes, glaring at Roman's shoes.

The priest, some rolly-polly friend of Dad's wearing a ridiculous gold and purple robe, finishes his droning reading of the Bible passages, and addresses the four Alphas fanned out at microphones between home plate and the pitcher's mound.

"Alpha Vince McMahon, Alpha Sika Reigns, Alpha Stephanie McMahon, Alpha Hunter Hearst-Helmsley," he intones, "before you are an Alpha and a beta seeking to be wed in accordance with your clans' traditions. This beta first must be stripped of all his ties to his parents' clan and be accepted into the Reigns clan. Alpha Vince McMahon, are you willing to allow this beta to leave your clan?"

"I'll allow it with his parents' approval," Grandpa booms into his microphone.

"Do you, Alphas Stephanie McMahon and Hunter Hearst-Helmsley, relinquish your guardianship of this beta so that he may wed Alpha Roman Reigns and be taken into the care and protection of the Reigns clan?"

"I do," Mom says, her voice sharp and clear over the stadium's speakers.

Dad echoes, "I do."

"Alpha Roman Reigns," the priest says, "this beta is being offered into your guardianship as your spouse. Will you accept him?"

"With my clan leader's approval," Roman says, his deep voice without a scrap of inflection.

"Alpha Sika Reigns, the Alpha, a member of your clan in good standing, seeks to take guardianship of the beta before you and bring him into your clan. Do you approve this union?"

"I do," Roman's father tells the priest.

 _Isn't anybody gonna ask me if I approve?_  Seth thinks, spiteful.

They won't.

Nobody cares what a beta thinks or wants.

"-keeling before you is a beta who is humbly offering himself up to your authority and household," the priest is saying. "He comes to you freed from any prior ties or claims. He comes to you  _tabula rasa_ , ready to be taken under your care and protection, willing to be led and guided, and prepared to serve you in whatever means you deem best. Do you take this beta as your spouse?"

"I do," Roman mutters into his microphone.

He doesn't sound happy.

Something in Seth withers, and if he wasn't afraid of bringing a whole lot of trouble down on his head, he'd look up and snap, " _You think_ I'm  _happy about this?_ "

Six years ago, young and in love with a brilliant beta who had the most seductive and dangerous ideas, Seth had foolishly allowed himself to hope that he'd be able to avoid being shackled to an Alpha like this. Jimmy had the wild idea that that betas deserved to be treated as Alphas' equals. The first time he'd said it, Seth had nearly choked. He'd been raised to believe a beta's place was in the home, raising the kids. Hearing someone actually say that betas should be running companies and being doctors, that got him questioning things.

The day after Dad overheard some of the things Jimmy had to say on the subject of Alphas and betas, Jimmy disappeared. Seth found himself under close supervision by a series of tutors who, daily, reminded him of a beta's three primary rules:

_Be respectful._

_Be obedient._

_Be unobtrusive_.

To this day, Seth has no idea what happened to Jimmy. He's terrified to ask.

"Clan leaders," the priest says, pulling Seth out of his thoughts, "this union represents not just a marriage between an Alpha and a beta now of the same clan, but a new tie binding your two clans in friendship and as business partners. Do you, Alpha Vince McMahon accept this union, and in so doing, your agreement with Alpha Sika Reigns and his clan? Do you accept Alpha Roman Reigns as an honorary member of your clan with the status and privileges of your Alpha grandson?"

"Darn right I do!" Grandpa says in his boisterous, booming way.

"Do you, Alpha Sika Reigns, accept this union and thereby accept the terms of your agreement with Alpha Vince McMahon and his clan?"

"I do," Sika says, more reserved.

"Then Alpha Roman Reigns," the priest says, "you may now place your ring on the beta's finger, if the beta would raise his left hand."

Like the respectful, obedient, unobtrusive beta he is, Seth raises his left hand without lifting his head. He remains still while Roman slips a perfectly-sized right onto the correct finger.

When it's in place, Seth lowers his hand back down to his side.

The priest tells Roman to put on his own ring, and afterward, thunders, "Then by the authority vested in me by the church and the Alpha Council, I now pronounce you Alpha and beta Roman Reigns. Alpha, you may now kiss your spouse."

A large, gentle hand hooks itself under Seth's bicep and urges him to sand. He does, slow and stiff, and raises his head so he's looking right around Roman's goateed chin. Roman leans across home plate to brush a faint ghost of a kiss across Seth's lips, so light Seth feels it as more of a brush of hair and air.

It's over in the blink of an eye, and Roman steps back, his taking hold of Seth's hand as sixty thousand people - for some inexplicable reason - start cheering like the Yankees had just won the pennant.

It swells to an actual roar when Grandpa Vince hollers, "Join me in congratulating my honorary Alpha grandson and his spouse! Welcome to the clan, Roman."

Seth swallows a bitter laugh: demoted even in his own family.

Such is the life of a beta.

* * *

_b. The Life of An Alpha_

From the moment the wedding ends until he's finally allowed to leave the ballroom with Seth, Roman feels like a bottle caught in a storm-tossed ocean, being dragged in whatever the current takes him.

That current being his father, Vince McMahon, Stephanie and Hunter.

If the Yankee Stadium wedding was an ode to excess, the reception is an ode to elitism.

Where some sixty-thousand members of the public had been invited to the wedding, only two hundred guests are invited to The Hawkstail Club afterward. With the exception of the small handful of Roman's immediate family and Elders from Clan Reigns, the guests represent a cross-section of the power elite in Vince McMahon's clan. It's a who's-who of clan Elders and other high-level Alpha leaders from the territory, A-List celebrities, and sports figures.

The combined net worth in the room is nearly twice that of the entire population of Clan McMahon.

Not one of the Alphas in attendance is actually here for Roman.

It's all about status: being seen walking the red carpet into this reception means that an Alpha  _is_  somebody in the clan. Furthermore, there isn't a single upper echelon Alpha in the clan who refused their invitation. To do so would have put that Alpha's status and fortune at risk. Vince McMahon has a reputation for being both generous and petty. While he rewards loyalty, he's been known to deal out harsh punishments for even small shows of disrespect.

No one who's anyone in Vince's clan wants to anger him.

Even Roman treads lightly around the old man, allowing himself to be dragged around to shake hands with every one of Vince's business cronies and Elders, and trying his utmost to remain polite and cool in the face of abject boredom. The Elders are out to impress Vince and fall all over themselves to kiss his ass about how wonderful the wedding was and how eager they are to establish business ties with Clan Reigns.

In a way, Roman envies Seth, who's seated up at the front table, alone and unbothered. As far as Roman ever sees, no one but Stephanie goes up there to speak to Seth. Seth isn't required to fake interest in stock talk or to not look impatient when Hunter and Stephanie decide it's their turn to get their share off ass-kissing from the celebrities and drag Roman along for the ride.

The celebrities - artists Roman actually likes like Jay-Z and Beyonce, for example - barely spare Roman a glance in their quest to get in good with Hunter and Stephanie, the future clan leaders. Not even Alphas like Jay-Z and Beyonce are exempt from having to show due deference.

It would take some doing, but Vince has the power to topple even their empire.

Roman stands in the middle of a ballroom full of rich Alphas status-grubbing, and a part of him just aches for the life he'd had six months ago. Kara. The beach house. Going for drinks after work with his cousins. The sound of the water lapping ashore lulling him to sleep at night.

A heavy hand clamps down on his shoulder, startling him back to the club and its expensive, elegant decorations and many tables full of Alphas watching him. Judging.

"What's with the long face?" Hunter asks, leading Roman away from the tables. "You that eager to get out of here and start making babies? I don't blame you. Something about weddings gets me hard, too."

Roman looks at him. He's taller than Hunter by a few inches and doesn't try to slouch. "I could've gone the rest of my life without knowing that, Hunter."

Hunter grins and leans against a pillar. "Better that came from me than Vince. You want to talk about a boner-killer."

"Man..." Roman sips his drink to wash that away.

"Hey, speaking of omegas," Hunter says, eyeing Roman thoughtfully, "I know your old man wanted your omega to come from a public Center, but if you decide you want something a little less used, let me know. Vince has his own little Center where he keeps some for VIPs. I'm sure we could find you something after your dad goes home. Never know the difference."

"That's okay," Roman tells him. "I'll stick with mine. I didn't know Vince had his own Omega Center."

"I think a lot of clan leaders would if it wasn't so damn expensive," Hunter replies. "It's all expensive. You don't even want to know how much Pops spent just getting your scent profiling done. For something that's not even an exact science, let's just say I'm glad it was his money. Guess - hey, it worked, so there's that."

"Uh-huh."

"Anyway." Hunter shifts. "Be ready to hit the ground running when you get back from Spain. You're gonna be giving a few press conferences the week after next just to get your face and your voice out there. Plus, there are some public works projects we're gonna stick you on. Again, it's just getting your face out there. That's what Pops really wants. He doesn't want you just behind the scenes. He wants our clan to get to know you so when you take over your clan, we'll be like family."

"Right," Roman mutters into his drink. "Family."

"Just stick with me, kid," Hunter tells him. "I won't steer you wrong. And lighten up, would ya? It's your wedding day. I know being all big, bad stoic Alpha Reigns is kinda your thing, but showing everybody you can have a good time is good, too. This is a huge deal for your clan. It's okay to show everybody you're happy about it. Pops would really like that. Now come on. Let's go top these off-" he holds up his tumbler "-and get back to it, huh?"

He turns away. Roman glares at his back, and, reluctantly, follows.

 _A huge deal for_ us _?_

"It is," his dad says half an hour later, in one of the few moments they have away from prying ears. "We're gonna to be able to do good business in their territory. That extra revenue will keep us stable far into the future. And if they come do business in our territory, that's also good for us. It's good for them, too. It's good for all of us."

"Our clan was fine on its own, Dad," Roman says, eyeing the room, and all the Alphas still trying to kiss Vince's ass. "We have industry. We're plenty stable, thanks to you. We've never needed any other name but Reigns."

"You're not seeing the big picture," Dad says. "That's okay. You let me worry about that. I want you to keep your head down, your mouth shut, and your ears open. Learn everything you can from these people. Do what they ask, but don't let them push you around. Look for opportunities to do charity. You're the face of our clan to these people. Set an example we can be proud of. Stop feeling sorry for yourself. This is your life now."

Roman tugs irritably at his tie. "Just because I'm not over the moon about marrying a beta I know nothing about, it doesn't mean I'm feeling sorry for myself, Dad. I'm here and I'm gonna do the best I can to represent our clan. It's just gonna be on my terms. I'm not gonna fake happy for these people. They're gonna get me just the way I am."

When he looks at his father, he's surprised to find not anger but a proud smile. The reprimand that usually follows an outburst of out-of-place Alphaness like that never comes. His father cups his cheek and says, "As long as you remember, my son, that straight ahead isn't always the best way to go. Don't let these people push you around, like I said, but don't get so caught up in doing things your way that you ignore good sense."

"All right." Roman backs away, finishes his drink. "I suppose we'd better get out there and talk to these people."

 _Life of an Alpha_ , he thinks sourly, and lets himself get swallowed up by the current.

For better or worse.

* * *

 _c._   _The Life of an omega_

Eyes see.

Ears hear.

Hands feel.

Hard floor.

Quiet footsteps.

Soft rug.

( _not human you're not human you're a thing to use_ )

( _obey_ )

( _OBEY_ )

Full-brain paralysis.

( _let me out let me the fuck out let me out_ )

It waits like it always waits.

This is a room.

It's in a room.

It waits.

It doesn't move.

It can't.

No input.

No output.

Hard floor.

Soft rug.

Head down.

Knees wide.

Quiet.

It waits.

( _fuck get up and run why won't you listen to me get up and run_ )

It always waits.

And then:

Door squeak.

Heavy footsteps.

Scent.

 _That_  scent.

Alpha.

Warm and away.

Places.

( _sandy beaches and ocean and trees and sun_ )

( _run get up why aren't you getting up run_ )

Safe.

_Be good._

_Behave._

_Obey_.

Rustling behind.

That scent approaching.

Alpha.

"omega."

It waits.

"up."

Input.

It sits up on its haunches.

Output.

"that's a good pup."

Pup?

Is that what it is?

Pup.

It's a good pup.

( _no no no no fuck this get up and run why won't you run_?)

It can be a good pup.

Familiar sounds.

Rustle.

Buttons.

Unzips.

 _Be good_.

_Behave._

_Obey_.

It can be a good pup.

Soft hand.

Warm touch.

"open."

( _no_ )

It opens its mouth.

( _wake up wake up wake up wake up wake up_ )

It can be a good omega.

It is a good omega.

( _run_ )

* * *

_d. [Shift]_

"I'm planning to stick to my omega for sex," Roman had told Seth in the limo on the way over to the hotel. "You're off the hook for that now and when we're home from Spain, too. You can move into one of the spare bedrooms."

In the dim dome light from overhead, he'd seen the way Seth's face tightened. "You could have sex with me if you wanted, Alpha. That's your right. I don't mind."

"I do," Roman had said. "We've already been forced into enough. We barely know each other. Call me Roman, by the way."

"Roman, then," Seth had murmured. "I'm not trying to argue with you, but you have sex with omegas you don't know, too, so I don't see how this would be any different."

"For one, you're not an omega," Roman had said. "For another, I'm not like that with betas. Just because I'm an Alpha, that doesn't mean I'm gonna demand sex from you. That's not my way. I'll stick to omegas."

He'd waited nearly a year for Kara be ready for it, and never once regretted it.

"And me, Alpha?" Seth'd snitted. "Do I just spend the rest of my life with my dick in my hand?"

"You will if you don't watch your tone," Roman had growled. "You spend tonight with your dick in your hand if you want to get off. After tonight, as long as you're quiet about it, you can have your own sex life for now. No dating. Keep your phone on you at all times. I'm not gonna hover over your shoulder, but if I need something, I better be able to get hold of you. If you're gonna be gone overnight, you text me. Otherwise, I don't care what you do. We probably won't see much of each other in Spain, but we do have to do some PR things while we're there, so be available."

It's not an uncommon arrangement.

Hunter had objected when Roman mentioned it, claiming that Seth needed to be kept on a short leash and that it was a bad idea, but Roman's father put his foot down and announced it was Roman's decision. He himself had had a similar arrangement with his first spouse until she passed away. It had been fine for him, he'd said, and it would be fine for Roman.

For his part, Seth had given Roman a grudging thanks.

"It's just a temporary arrangement," Roman had told him. "Until we have kids."

"Right," Seth had muttered. "Kids."

He'd done a poor job hiding his unhappiness.

Roman had let it go, and had done his best to ignore the tension in the limo.

Skip ahead two hours, and it's a very different Roman lying on his oversized hotel bed.

The display wall across the room is showing a floor-to-ceiling image of an empty stretch of oceanside beach at sundown, waves lapping ashore in peaceful intervals. The sound comes through crystal clear over the room's dozen or so tiny hidden speakers. It's almost like being there.

Almost.

And in it, this Roman, lying naked on the bed curled around his omega, is relaxed as much as he can be with a shackle of a wedding ring around his finger. The big omega he's using as a body pillow is still and quiet, warm and pliable, that soft woodsy musk curled around both of them and driving all the chaos from Roman's brain. It's turned a little so it can watch the oceanscape, half-lidded blue eyes heavy with fatigue.

Roman doesn't wonder.

He'd put his omega through its paces when he'd gotten here, taking almost an hour to pound out his day's frustrations into its pussy until he'd blown his knot and everything went away. It did well - even better than it had at the Center yesterday, as if it remembered how Roman asked it to move yesterday, and wanted to do that again to please him. It'd done so well Roman feels a lazy kind of excitement about its upcoming heat.

That'll be fun two days.

He nuzzles into sandy hair. "That's a good pup."

His omega breathes out deep, not quite a sigh, and settles its back a little tighter to Roman's chest.

He's never actually slept with an omega before, so he doesn't know if that's normal behavior or not, but he can't help finding it almost cute.

 _Mine_ , he thinks, hiking a possessive leg over its hip.

"Mine," he says aloud. "My pup."

It's the only thing in this ocean of chaos that's made any kind of sense today.

"Sleep," he tells his omega when he sees it fighting to stay awake.

He must fall asleep himself because he remembers nothing for a bit, and then suddenly his eyes snap open again when he hears somebody mumbling something, quiet and sleep-thick.

"-son. person. 'm a person."

Roman lifts his head, frowning when he realizes it's his omega saying it.

"person." Another mumble. "...erson."

[ _shift_ ]

Omegas don't talk - they can't, that's what Roman's always been told - but his is talking in its sleep, mouth half open and moving soundlessly and not-soundlessly around the words.

' _m a person_.

Discomfited, Roman nudges the omega's shoulder. "Hey."

The omega awakens all at once, fear and confusion on its face for a split second before its expression blanks. It looks at Roman and then away, head cocked like it's waiting to be told what to do.

"Do you talk?" Roman asks it.

It doesn't answer.

"Speak," Roman tries, injecting a note of Alpha command into his voice. "Talk. Say something."

Still, it doesn't answer.

All of a sudden, it feels tighter than a drumskin against him, and this weird sharp note creeps into its scent that Roman doesn't like. It's almost sour. Fear. Distress.

"'I'm a person'," Roman repeats, just to get a reaction. "That's what you said. Say it again."

His omega begins to shake, but doesn't say a word.

Strange.

"Okay, okay," Roman says, settling a calming hand on Pup's head, carding fingers through its hair. "Easy, Pup. Easy. It's okay. It sounded like you were talking in your sleep, is all. Do omegas do that? I thought they couldn't talk. I don't know. I'll ask Finn tomorrow. Just - it's okay. Relax. Go back to sleep. That's a good Pup."

Pup shifts to look at the oceanscape again, still playing on the display wall, and gradually its shakes subside. Its eyelids begin to droop. Roman's do, too, once Pup's scent calms down.

As strange as that was, it's not anything that can't wait until morning.

And so, surrounded once again by his mate's quiet musky and the sounds of the ocean he misses like breathing, Roman drops back off to sleep.

He doesn't wake up until morning.

( _I'm a person_.)

[ _shift_ ]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU so much to everyone for reading and to those of you who've taken the time to leave feedback.
> 
> Want to throw something else out there: I don't mind constructive criticism, as long as it's polite and actually constructive. If things don't make sense, lemme know. I don't mind clarifying or going to back to fix a glaring plot hole. I'm not perfect. Y'all have seen my amazing proofreading skills. *cough* All I really ask is don't be a dick about it. Same goes for any writer. We want to improve, but people jumping to conclusions about plot points or trying to dictate what the story should be - that's not constructive. It's entitled, shitty behavior and it needs to stop. Thanks, y'all! Y'all are great! I appreciate ya!
> 
> In the next episode: we'll meet Finn. And Roman meets a stranger who upends his worldview.

**Author's Note:**

> Good, bad, indifferent - let me know what you think. Thanks for reading.


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